The response from the Indiaman was immediate, and devastating. Her cannon, double-shotted and square-on to Bucephalas, roared out a salvo that took Harry’s ship all the way forward from amidships to the bows. The foremast, just above the cap, snapped in two like a matchstick. As it toppled slowly over the starboard side, with ropes snapping and blocks falling, it took the wounded bowsprit with it, leaving Harry Ludlow with nothing forward of the mainmast with which to control the ship.
Even in such light airs the head immediately began to fall off, the force of the making tide swinging it round to expose his naked bows. Harry screamed for axes, at the same time ordering his men to man what larboard guns could still fire. Practically dead in the water, and with little in this situation to defend himself, there were several agonizing minutes while he lay at the mercy of his opponents. They, either French or English, he knew not which, used the time badly. Instead of smashing through his unprotected bows with roundshot, an action which would probably have crippled him, they loaded their cannon with bar shot, elevated the aim, and sent their next broadside scything through the mainmast rigging.
The range was opening, as the leeway took the two ships away from his, the fog closing in again to hide them from his gaze. He rushed forward, determined to keep them in view, ready to put boats over the side if need be to make boarding possible. Yet he was aware, as he yelled the orders that would clear the debris off his deck, that if his crew were responding they were doing so without the enthusiasm that had made every endeavour on this cruise a resounding success.
CHAPTER TWO
‘MAN THE boats!’ he cried, as he saw the last faint outline of the hulls disappear. This was shouted at a crew desperately engaged in clearing the ship of the existing wreckage, as well as tending to the wounded, too heavily occupied to respond with speed. The level of invective they were subjected to, when it became apparent that Harry Ludlow seemed to care nothing for his casualties, drove yet another spoke into their diminishing regard for their irascible captain.
He was beside himself, spinning this way and that, oblivious to the blood that stained the deck, cursing men individually and collectively as the boats were hauled alongside; Pender, who’d been absent from his usual station by his captain’s side, was particularly exposed to it – so much so, that for the sake of his own self-respect, let alone his standing amongst the crew, he could not help but respond.
‘Are you out of your head, Capt’n?’
‘Don’t dare address me in that manner,’ Harry roared.
Pender responded in kind. ‘I can and I will. That’s the English Channel below our keel, fifty-fathom water with a swell that can make just trying to row a boat near fatal.’
Harry raised his cutlass in a threatening manner. ‘Get on that damned rope and haul those boats in, Pender, or so help me I’ll use this.’
‘Harry!’
He spun round. His brother James was standing there, the shock on his face extreme.
‘What in the name of God are you thinking about?’
‘I’m thinking about taking one or both of those ships, which I could do easily if there was a man aboard with the stomach for a fight.’
‘We can’t board an armed, moving vessel in deep water,’ Pender pleaded, more to James than to his commander. Even a self-confessed lubber like the younger Ludlow could appreciate the difficulties. It was hard enough to try and board a ship in harbour with everyone asleep. But in open water, with a ponderous channel swell and a crew that was alert and dangerous? ‘It’s suicide.’
‘Is that what you want, Harry, to kill yourself?’
James had to avoid the temptation to step back when faced with the aggressive way his brother approached him. But he held his ground, and felt the heat of Harry’s breath as he spoke quietly, but insistently, his voice devoid of any affection.
‘You will oblige me by going to and staying in my cabin. The running of this ship is my concern, not yours.’
‘I have a share …’
Harry raised his voice once more, seemingly no longer concerned about the damage he was doing to his brother’s position.
‘Your share! So does every man aboard in the profits we earn. But I don’t hear any of them have the damned cheek to demand explanations from me on the deck of my own ship. You presume too much, brother.’
‘And what about me, Captain?’ asked Pender.
Harry spun round to face him. ‘You may go below if you wish, and skulk in the bilges where you will be safe.’
‘Does that go for anyone who’s of the same mind?’
The voice had come from the back of the assembled crew, the fog making it even harder to discern the source. But the murmur that rippled through the ranks indicated it was not a single individual who felt that way.
‘I want no man along with me who lacks courage.’
‘What about those who’re brave enough,’ Pender added, ‘but too brainy to see the sense?’
‘I think, Harry,’ said James, calmly, ‘that you have a mutiny on your hands.’
‘Then I’ll go by myself.’ Harry spoke as he turned, the words uttered before he saw the pistol James was holding, aimed steadily at his head.
‘This may change your mind.’
‘You won’t use it, James,’ Harry replied bitterly, raising his cutlass so that the point was aimed at his brother. ‘And if you did, I’m not sure that I would care.’
‘There’s not a man aboard wants that, Captain,’ said Pender, moving closer.
‘There’s one,’ Harry replied.
He hadn’t turned towards Pender, so he didn’t even catch a glimpse of the weighted sandbag with which he hit him. James did, and as the blow was struck he stepped smartly backwards so that his brother, falling forwards, wouldn’t run him through. He saw first the surprise in Harry’s eyes, then observed calmly the way they went out of focus, this coinciding with the first hint of a loss of the power to stay upright. Two sailors, the Pole, Jubilee, and another called Carrick, stepped forward, to take their captain under the arms. James spoke again, as soon as they had him secure.
‘Take him to the cabin, Jubilee. Pender, we’d best double the party on the pumps. And would it be possible to get some kind of jury foremast rigged, so that we can steer properly?’
Seeing the way the man was looking at him, some of the confidence he’d demonstrated evaporated, to be replaced by an uncertain tone. ‘That is the right term, is it not?’
‘It is,’ Pender replied, with a grin. ‘But I never thought to hear it from your lips.’
James looked sadly at Harry, being borne away by the two sailors, his feet dragging along the planking.
‘Neither did I, Pender. Neither did I.’
The April sun had burnt off the fog by the time Harry came round. Light streamed into the cabin through the casements, which immediately told him the bows were pointing to the north. He tried to sit up but James put a hand on his chest, and still weakened by the blow, he had little strength to resist.
‘I wasn’t exaggerating about mutiny, brother,’ James said, as he saw Harry’s eyes casting around with uncertainty. ‘And since you are in a position in which, temporarily, I can overawe you, I intend to take this opportunity to pass on a few unpalatable truths.’
The eyes turned away from him as Harry looked at the bulkhead beside his cot.
‘No one could be more saddened at your loss than I was myself. But I must tell you that since that day you have not been fit company for a human being. You have been boorish, bad-tempered, moody, and damned rude, both to me and to the crew. And in an attempt to smother your sadness, you’ve taken us all to the edge of perdition on more than one occasion.’
‘Are you finished?’
‘No, Harry, I am not. You have accused men who have been loyal to you of cowardice, not least Pender. How you could do that to a man who more than once has saved both your life and mine, escapes me.’
‘Then in the time you’ve been at sea with me you have learnt not
hing. A captain must be obeyed.’
‘Even a fool?’ Harry opened his mouth to respond but James was too quick for him. ‘That sounds very like some of the worst kind of naval officers we have encountered, a species you purported to despise. Do you really subscribe to the values of men who will serve out a seaman a hundred lashes for no purpose other than some notion of wounded vanity? Perhaps you should have stayed in the King’s service after all. Or is it merely the corrupting influence of power that all you seafarers have. I for one am very grateful that Father saw fit to send me to school, and not to sea.’
That was designed to wound Harry deeply, and James could see he had succeeded. The son of a successful sailor, Harry had been listed on the books of his father’s ship when he was barely breeched. His entire education had been afloat, first rated as a captain’s servant, then as a midshipman, and finally as a lieutenant. While he was growing up with salt in his veins, James had benefited from their father’s increasing wealth. Harry progressed from ship to ship when Thomas Ludlow had become both an admiral and a knight.
Profiting mightily from the lucrative Leeward Islands command, and too forthright in his disputes with the Admiralty to be re-employed, Thomas had retired to become a country gentleman. A widower, he’d seen his daughter married to the offspring of an earl, and his youngest son progress through school and university and private study to become a successful artist. But for all their achievements, he was most proud of his eldest boy who, with a fair wind and an absence of peril, looked set to follow him to the very pinnacle of naval rank.
James had often wondered if Harry’s court martial had hastened their father’s death. Having just participated in a successful battle against the French, in which Admiral Rodney had trounced an enemy fleet in the Saintes Channel, Harry had every right to expect substantial financial reward, and a step in the promotion ladder. Instead, for reasons on which he’d never elaborated, he’d fought a duel with his first lieutenant, and put a pistol ball in the man’s shoulder. Called upon to apologise, he refused, leaving a court that was kindly disposed towards him no alternative but to remove his commission.
James, respecting his brother’s feelings, never mentioned the matter nor enquired the cause. But several years at sea, and the odd hint dropped by his brother, had allowed him to form certain opinions. Carter, the wounded man, had been well known as a martinet. He not only liked to flog the men, he also took delight in demeaning his officers. James suspected that the argument had been about many things, but that the primary one was naval discipline, too zealously applied.
Harry was not one to condemn flogging out of hand. As he often said to James, it was a right given to all captains, in law, and there were men with whom he’d sailed who’d respond to nothing else. And the feelings of the rest of the crew required consideration, especially where the culprit stole from his mates. But he did not use it unnecessarily, and sailing in a ship manned by volunteers, each of whom had a vested interest in efficiency, he’d never had to let the cat out of the bag on the entire cruise. In happier times James had heard Harry rail against a system that dragged unwilling men to sea, in ships sometimes officered by sadists, who were fed rotten food, robbed of their meagre pay, and denied shore leave in harbour, all accompanied by regular flogging to keep them in line.
‘Do I deserve that?’ asked Harry, trying to subdue the harsh note of anger in his voice.
‘You do, brother, and a great deal more abuse besides. The men you lead have followed you, unquestioningly, into battles that were none of their concern.’
‘What a collection of saints you make them sound.’
The men who crewed Bucephalas were far from that. They were in the main hard-bitten scoundrels who welcomed a fight, and loved to take a prize then spend their share of the profits ashore. This was done with no regard for the future, in a land they called Fiddler’s Green, on all the things that tars cherished: drink, gambling, women, and song. And when the money ran out they wanted to get back to sea and earn some more.
‘Regardless of their personal morals they have not let you down, so it is particularly sad to see you do that very thing to them. I presume you are not anticipating a long run ashore yourself. If life on land bored you before it will do so doubly now. Once the ship is repaired, I can see you desperate to get away again. When you do, you will need a crew.’
Harry sat bolt upright, before James could restrain him, his eyes blazing angrily. ‘There’s no shortage of men willing to sail with me, brother, though there might be some that I will wish to leave ashore.’
James yawned slightly before he replied, and when he did so it was in a tone of studied languor that Harry had heard him use so often to devastating effect.
‘If you’re referring to me, Harry, I must tell you that persuasion or command will not be required. And if your mood does not improve with earth under your feet, I doubt I shall seek your company on terra firma either.’
The hail from the masthead with the skylight closed was faint and incomprehensible. Harry pulled himself to his feet, rubbing the back of his head as he did so.
‘Who hit me?’ he demanded.
‘Collectively, everyone on deck, including me.’
‘Would you have shot me, James?’
There was no avoiding Harry’s stare, nor did he try to. Both knew that for all his veneer of sophistication, honed by years spent mixing with the cream of society in the salons of London, James Ludlow had a fierce temper. His languid manner covered a steely determination that surfaced rarely. But when it did he was as capable as his brother of irrationality.
‘How can I tell, Harry? But let me say this. If I had pulled the trigger it would have downed neither a brother nor a friend.’
‘It will be good to have my cabin to myself again,’ said Harry, pushing past him to make his way out on to the deck.
The crew, some looking aloft and others peering over the larboard bow, knew he’d come on deck. But none turned in his direction, and lest he doubt their indifference, they went back to the tasks they’d been performing without orders. The pumps clanked on, sending a steady stream of silver water over the side. The stump of a jury mast had been rigged, with another spar acting as a temporary bowsprit. The men working in that section were occupied in reeving the ropes and blocks that would operate the small scraps of sail which was all that these makeshift timbers would sustain. Harry resisted the temptation to call aloft to the lookout. Eventually, Pender, who’d been supervising the work, came aft to report.
‘Two boats in the water, due east, full of men.’ His voice was flat, not friendly, not servile. ‘One of them has waved a shirt so we reckons they’re distressed.’
‘Position?’ Harry demanded, not looking him in the eye.
Pender, if he was angered by that, kept it out of his voice. ‘Can’t rightly say. We’ve drifted somewhat since the fog lifted. Even on a sea like this it makes it easier to work.’
‘How long?’
‘Four hours. I assume we was on a course you set afore that.’
Harry finally looked at him, and there was no regard either there or in his tone. ‘Your assumptions are unwelcome, Pender.’
‘They tend to go with the answers to questions, Capt’n,’ Pender replied, bitterly. ‘If you ask for one you get the other.’
Harry ignored him and turned away, pulling a telescope from the rack and heading towards the side of the ship. A call to the lookout told him where to aim and soon the boats, crammed full and low in the water, swam into view. He dropped the glass to study the progress of the work forward, and reckoned that they could close the gap with what he had aloft. The commands he issued were obeyed with such alacrity that he had no cause to complain, but there were no smiles nor jokes, none of the usual banter which marked a crew at ease with their station.
Once the course had been set, with the gentle breeze playing on Bucephalas’s quarter, they retired as far away as possible from Harry Ludlow, leaving the windward side of the quarterdeck, the
traditional preserve of the ship’s captain, for him to pace alone. Once within hailing distance he took a speaking trumpet and called for the occupants of the boats to identify themselves. The man who complied, wearing a salt-streaked but well-tailored blue coat, and waving a hat trimmed with expensive ostrich feathers, made Harry suspect their provenance before the voice became distinct enough to confirm it.
‘Lothian!’ he shouted. ‘East Indiaman. Ten weeks out of Calcutta, bound for the Pool of London.’
‘We will heave to,’ Harry replied, dejectedly. There might be two India ships which had got into difficulties in the same day, but he doubted it. This was the one he’d encountered in the fog. ‘We have sustained damage that makes it hard to manoeuvre. It is safer if you close with us.’
‘God bless you, sir, for stopping.’
‘Open the gangway,’ he called out, his voice containing a goodly portion of the anger he felt. Bucephalas hadn’t stopped, but had been found wallowing and drifting. ‘And put down some side ropes in case he has passengers. A sling in the yards and a sail rigged as a stretcher to lift out any wounded.’
They rocked on the swell while the boat struggled to make up the leeway to the side of Harry’s ship. If it was hard work, it was at least safe. Without anything to steer by the head, he could easily have caught a fluke of wind that, swinging his ship, would drive them under. Finally the first boat crunched into Bucephalas and the crew manned the side ropes to help the distressed survivors aboard. Several wounded men came up in the slings, and were immediately taken below to the cockpit, there to join those already under medical care.
The captain in the well-cut coat, having seen his crew off both boats, was the last to board, making sure before he did that his final possessions, his cutter and longboat, were securely lashed to the rescuer. He climbed up the ladder with an ease born of long usage, and as he came through the gangway he looked around at the damage which no amount of temporary repair could disguise. Finally he spotted Harry Ludlow, standing on the quarterdeck, and lifted his plumed hat in salute.
Game of Bones Page 2
